The Odd Life of Cornelius Tessington

Returning Home

The snow surrounds me and whips around me, my worn shoes slipping against the icy cobblestone of the ground. Though it is cold and my coat barely protects me from the relentless snow, the good thing about snow is the usual stench of sewage is nearly gone. Replaced with the fresh scent of winter. Covering my eyes with a hand I try to make my way through the blinding white storm. With my extra money I had made a trip to the apothecary; picking up something warm for us to drink that would hopefully soothe my father's illness. When I arrived home however, I found something that made my heart leap into my throat as it attempted to escape my body. My father looked like death, skin paler than the snow falling around me, cheeks sunken in and eyes lacking any of his usual luster. The only sign of life being the slight rise and fall of his thin chest. Other than that, I would have assumed him dead. My mother sat beside him on her knees, stroking his head with a cloth as she...cried.

Yes, my mother, who had braved through so many struggles in our lives. Though the loss of her job, through father's illness, though the many fears a parent felt when they had no money; but now, now she wept openly. Her face which was rosy from the cold had trickling tears falling in buckets; her soft sobs the true sound of heartbreak to my ears. Sorrow seemed to wrap around her entire body, suffocating her in the feeling of utter hopelessness. Never had I ever seen my mother cry before, she had always been too strong. Too strong...I felt my own eyes water and I covered my mouth as I gave a sob of my own. She turned at the sound of another's grief and stared at me, only to run up to me, beckoning me inside. I leave the white world around me and rush to my mother's side, wrapping my arms around her as we cry openly, soaking each other's shoulders in tears. Finally, we stop, drained emotionally from what we have been though. We are nearly done with winter, just a month or two more and we'd be in spring. He just had to last until then!

"This is rather sad, today is a happy occasion and we weep! Your father wouldn't want us to cry today Edith." My mother sniffed, grasping my hands tightly and kissing both of my wet cheeks. I reached into my coat, pulling out the food and drink I had brought. And though my mother thanked me and asked me questions about work, I only had eyes for my father. The nearly lifeless figure lying forlornly upon the bed, wasting away in the London snow. When I reached a hand to his face, just wanting to touch the face I had kissed every day when he came home, the face that had smiled down at me and I had always seen as invincible when my mother yanked my hand away.

"No Edith you can't touch him! He's so sick that just touching him may spread it. And where would we be if you got sick?" My throat burned again and I sank to my knees next to him, the stench of sickness overpowering my senses. He was a horrible sight to behold so very ill. But, I would always remember the strong, active man he had been, and would one day become once more. Covering my face I rasped,

"I want my father back, I want to see him walk home and jump into his arms. I want to listen to him tell stories and..." my mother grasped my shoulders, squeezing them tightly.

"I know Edith, I miss him too. But acting like he's gone isn't going to do anyone any good. Now, what we can do is eat that food you gave us, I will give him the tea you brought. He's in need of something hot to drink." My mother said softly, the misery in her voice barely detectable anymore. So, as I settled down on a dirty blanket, setting out the food for mother and I, I watched out of the corner of my eye as she poured the drink for him. Mother propped father up with an arm and, with a light kiss on his sweaty forehead, put the cup to his lips. A low groan resonated from his chest and he turned his head ever so slightly away. Her face tensed and she whispered in a soothing tone.

"Lyle, you need to drink this. It will make you feel better. Please Lyle, Edith is here." He opened one eye with what appeared to be great strain only to give the faintest of smiles and shut it again, exhaling long and loud.

"Edith." He breathed, the sound so faint I nearly missed it. Instantly I was at his side,

"Yes father? What is it?" But he did not speak, merely drank the tea in small sips. It was my mother's sudden coughing though, that drew my attention. Whirling towards her I felt my chest tighten.

"Mother, are you alright?" I asked cautiously, watching her every move. She gave a wave of her hand.

"Edith don't worry about me, I'm fine. Just the smell of the herbs just all. That's all." But I knew deep down in the curling ball of dread in my belly that she was wrong. It wasn't the herbs, and she knew it. That's when I heard the soft crunch of footsteps and the rustle of the blanket over the door. My ball of dread grew, encouraging me to go towards the door. And when I pulled back the thin blanket I saw footprints in the snow and as I looked up, I saw a receding figure that, if I looked closer, had a very similar shape to one man.

                                                                                   Hampton.